<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sweet talk by postalcoast</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871974">sweet talk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast'>postalcoast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, MorstonWeek2020, Praise Kink, Scars, arthur morgan is told hes beautiful, every second of every day is that too much to ask, look i just wanna live in a world where</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:40:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s still absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb over the scar. Sometimes, when they kiss, John’ll lower his lips and press one against the healed over scar tissue that Arthur earned sometime long ago. </p>
<p>Arthur used to think John was just about as clumsy with kissing as he was with everything else until John told him one day that he did it on purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Marston/Arthur Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Morston Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweet talk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello i bring u bottom arthur w/ a praise kink &amp; john who likes wearing arthur's hat during sex</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Going against his own advice, Arthur follows John into Valentine that night after the train robbery.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re holed up in a hotel room, there, now - the same room Arthur found Karen in a couple of weeks ago with that stupid bastard he had to knock some sense into. No telling how many men like him took their lovers (supposed, paid, or otherwise) into this very room before then and before now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No telling what all this room has seen, but it’s best not to think upon that now. Hard to think about much of anything right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s got his hands pressed down firmly into the mattress, arms surprisingly steady on either side of John’s head, straddling his hips. John’s fingers are digging into his skin, just below his ribs, guiding him as Arthur rolls down into John’s thrusts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur had snuck himself into the bathroom downstairs with John, the two of them giddy and laughing, smelling of gunpowder and sweat. Now, Arthur has snuck himself into John’s rented room for the night, still running off that same exhilaration, smelling of soap and whatever cheap champagne the hotel had to offer with the bath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it,” He hears John say - his words are slurred slightly, and not necessarily because of the champagne. “Nice an’ slow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur opens his eyes, picks his gaze up to see John’s staring at him through a lazy, half-lidded gaze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “I - we’ve done this before, John,” He feels a bit flustered with this attention all of a sudden, heat creeping its way into his face. “you ain’t gotta talk me through it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know - ‘M not,” John says. He scoots himself up a bit on the bed so he’s got his shoulders up against the headboard, Arthur moves one of his hands to grip at the top of it, adjusting himself to the position. “just - know you like bein’ told how good you are at it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John bends one of his legs behind Arthur, giving himself a little more leverage. John finally moves one of his hands to wrap around Arthur’s cock and he thrusts up into Arthur again, the other hand still stabilizing him, and Arthur lets his head fall back, eyes sliding shut once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmh,” Arthur hears himself say. It’s more of a sound than it is an actual word or statement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bed creaks underneath them, as Arthur grinds his hips down - keeping a slow and steady pace. Much slower than they usually do this, but the way Arthur figures it - they got all night, nobody’s really expecting them back at camp this late. Why not take their time with it?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur opens his eyes again when the warmth of John’s hand leaves his side - just in time to see John reach over and pluck Arthur’s hat off the nightstand where he’d left it, and place it right on top of his own head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bastard looks smug about it, too. Grinning up at Arthur all knowingly and self-satisfied. Still, Arthur can’t help but laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s real cute, John.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? Suits me, don’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ain’t the first time John’s wore Arthur’s hat, probably wouldn’t be the last. Something that started out recently as childish aggravation tactic and ended up being some sort of enticing secret between the two of them once John found out just how much Arthur liked seeing him in it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never wore it during sex before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> was entirely new.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Arthur breathes out, earnestly. “Looks good on you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks better on you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John’s expression turns somewhere between focused and overwhelmed, Arthur rolls his hips in a way that has them both groaning, hand slipping from the headboard to clutch at John’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” John gets out. “you’re good at this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Arthur goads him on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re doin’ fine,” John’s voice has turned all breathy like it gets sometimes after they’ve just finished racing horses. Sometimes Arthur has suggested they race back to camp just so he can hear John’s voice get like that. “real nice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hand on Arthur’s cock gets going at a better pace now, one that has Arthur sucking in a breath through his teeth. The other moves to ghost up along Arthur’s stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look so good right now, Arthur,” John says, sounding amazed. He looks it, too - watching him with an almost reverential expression. The same way Arthur’s seen people look at sunsets or expensive works of art. “Always do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John knows what this does to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him like this during sex. Compliments like these would be quickly shot down by modest mumblings in any normal setting, but in a setting such as this, Arthur lets them happen. He lets John say them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love just lookin’ at you, sometimes - touchin’ you,” John’s palm travels up to Arthur’s chest, fingers dancing along his collarbone. “I think about it all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Touchin’ me?” Arthur’s voice is strained, hoarse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, any way I can, like this or just - in general,” John says, he’s got his eyes closed now, his mouth open with words just tumbling out. “when we’re out riding together, I think about ridin’ up beside you and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>holdin’ your hand</span>
  </em>
  <span> or somethin’ - like I used to see Hosea and Bessie do sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laces their fingers together with his free hand as if to accentuate his words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur wants to say something along the lines of this saccharine confession being something of the complete opposite of the kind of talk Arthur expected from him tonight, but John sounds like he means it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Make me wish I could draw pictures of you like you do of me,” John opens his eyes, and he’s got his hand curled around Arthur’s jaw now, thumb stroking at the ridge of the scar on his chin. “Give me somethin’ to look at when you ain’t around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John’s still absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb over the scar. Sometimes, when they kiss, John’ll lower his lips and press one against the healed over scar tissue that Arthur earned sometime long ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur used to think John was just about as clumsy with kissing as he was with everything else until John told him one day that he did it on purpose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamn, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you look so good,” As if reading his mind, John yanks Arthur down into a kiss, and Arthur collapses over him, knocking his hat off and up against the headboard behind him, reaching out to hold himself up against the mattress again. “You’re so good, Arthur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur reaches up and pulls out his discarded hat, dropping it to the floor. John doesn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John keeps whispering words of admiration against Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur comes, the shock of it radiating down to his thighs, and John keeps jerking him through it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John’s hands go to Arthur’s back, up in his hair, his movements completely uncoordinated and erratic as if there’s just not enough of Arthur to touch, and he groans into Arthur’s mouth when he comes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They lie like that for a few moments, with John still running a hand up and down Arthur’s back soothingly, their foreheads pressed together, sharing a few panted breaths. For all the talking he’s been doing all night, now, it seems John doesn’t know what to say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s still just gazing up at Arthur with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that look </span>
  </em>
  <span>on his face like Arthur’s some recently discovered wonder of the world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s here, in the fading light of the oil lamp at their bedside, that Arthur realizes that no one in his life has quite ever looked at him like John does, and it’s that thought that makes him lean down and kiss John once more. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>